by Barbara Bell
“Come on,” Mick said as he yanked on the handbrake. “Those are my brothers’ cars parked around back. Everyone’s here.”
Joey felt fused to the seat. “‘Everyone’?”
“Yeah. I told you. My brothers are bringing their families.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Hey.” Mick’s voice was careful. “You aren’t really scared are you? I promise they’re all friendly.”
“I know but—”
The door to the house swung open, and a middle-aged woman in blue jeans and a 2000 Summer Olympics T-shirt charged out. Joey didn’t need to be told who she was. It was obvious the moment he saw her. The thick black hair, the short slim frame, the dark deep eyes . . .
“Mum!” Mick cried, and jumped out of the car.
Joey watched as the two raced towards each other. The hug was tight and close, limbs tangled and smiles huge. Something inside him tugged at the sight. He didn’t have time to dwell on the feeling though, because as quickly as the embrace started, it ended. Mick’s mum pinched his arm and scolded him for not eating enough. Mick laughed it off, took her hand, and—oh holy hell—guided her back towards the car.
Joey pushed open the door and scrambled to his feet. “Hi, Ms. . . .” Shit. What was Mick’s last name again? They’d been dating for months. He should know this. He did know this. But, in a moment of sheer panic, that knowledge was lost. “Ms.— Um— Eh—”
If she noticed his stammering, she was kind enough not to comment on it. “Joey,” she pulled him down into a crushing hug. A few bones in his back popped. “It’s great to finally meet you! I didn’t think you would be so tall.”
“I—I—”
“You look good with your clothes on.”
If he’d had any hope of saying something intelligent, it died then. He stopped trying and listened to them talk as they towed him back towards the house. The old dog wagged its tail lazily as they all kicked off their shoes, and heaved itself onto its feet to sniff curiously at Joey as they passed. Once the door opened, they were in a whole new world.
“Everyone! Mick’s home!”
“Hey, Mick!”
“Do you want a beer?”
“Uncle Mick! Uncle Mick!”
“Who’s the white boy?”
The room dipped into silence, and for a single terrifying moment, all eyes were on him.
“Eh . . .” Joey was fifty percent sure he was having a heart attack. “Hi. I’m . . .”
“This is Joey,” Mick’s mum said. “Mick’s boyfriend. I told you he was coming.”
“Oh. Right.”
And that was it. Everyone’s focus shifted back onto Mick, and somehow Joey ended up on the sofa with a cold beer and a plastic plate full of leftovers. One of Mick’s brothers asked him who he thought was going to win X Factor and a girl he could only assume was Mick’s niece showed him her colouring book.
He couldn’t believe it. In theory, he had always known Mick’s family was more accepting than his, but in practise he had still expected there to be some friction. He was the first guy Mick had actually brought home after all, and there was a big difference between being told a family member was gay and coming face-to-face with that fact. But they didn’t care. Not Mick’s mum, not his nieces and nephews, and not even his three hulking and very heterosexual older brothers.
They accepted him. They accepted them.
Joey wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
Instead, he finished his lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out with Mick’s family. He built a Lego tower with a couple of the kids, cut up meat with Mick’s mum, and played an improvised version of rugby with Mick’s brothers and their wives as the sun went down. After dinner, they all sat on the veranda and talked.
And talked and talked and talked and talked.
It was late, and Mick had already gone to bed when Joey finally stumbled, a little drunker than he remembered getting, to Mick’s bedroom. It was small and had clearly been remodelled since Mick was a teenager. Or, at least, he hoped so. The walls festooned with framed pictures of flowers, the carpet plush and pink, and the bed covered in something large and frilly. He collapsed down on top of it.
“Ow! Joey? What the . . .” Mick emerged from beneath the pile of bedding to glare at him. “I was sleeping.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry.”
Joey tipped his head as he noticed Mick’s shoulders were bare. As he pulled back the blanket, he saw that other things were bare as well. Maybe Mick was right. He wasn’t sorry. “You sleep naked at your mum’s house?”
“Why not? She isn’t going to barge in here without knocking. You, on the other hand . . .” A meaningful glare.
Joey ignored it and cocked a smile. “Speaking of hands.”
Mick made a face. “Seriously? That’s your pickup line?”
“Just saying . . . I could pick up something of yours.” He dropped his gaze pointedly towards Mick’s groin.
Mick snorted. “You’re drunk.” But he shuffled over and waited while Joey fought to get his pants off. He hadn’t taken off his shoes first, which created an almost impossible tangle around his ankles. Sorting that out was probably the least sexy thing he’d ever done and confirmed his suspicion that he was actually just a wee bit too drunk to have sex.
It didn’t matter. Mick appeared content to spoon up against him and kiss his cheek as Joey finally slumped naked back in the bed.
“Your brothers are really cool,” Joey said.
“I know.”
“And your mum’s really cool.”
“I know.”
“You’re really cool too.” He looked over his shoulder at him. “And smart, and beautiful, and hot.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. Thanks for inviting me. I didn’t think I wanted to come, but everything was so nice and with the kids and dinner and . . .” His voice faltered, and Mick propped himself up on his elbow to gaze down at him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Joey said, and realised it was true. He was okay. He was more okay than he had been in a long time. Drunk, dizzy, and lying on a bed gazing up at Mick. “I love you.” The words fell out of him almost by accident. Loose, messy, and not at all like he had planned on telling him. “I do. I really do. I love you.”
Mick had gone very still.
“I hope it’s not too soon for me to say that,” Joey whispered, suddenly nervous. “But if it is, then just forget it. It’s not a big deal. I don’t need to hear you say it back yet or anyth—”
“You too.”
Joey frowned. “Huh?”
“I love you too, you idiot.”
This time it was Joey’s turn to be still. “Oh.” In all his imaginings of this moment, he hadn’t factored in how it would feel to have Mick say those words back to him. He hadn’t realised how much it would wipe thought and reason from his mind or how it would warm him deep inside. He loves me.
Mick gently ran his fingers through Joey’s hair.
Joey caught that hand, pulled Mick into his arms, and connected their lips.
It wasn’t unlike their first kiss: open, earnest, and touched with the unmistakeable but not unpleasant taste of alcohol. But it was better. Better because there were no lingering uncertainties, no hesitation, and no newness to explain away the deep happy feeling it left in his chest. Better because he loved Mick, Mick loved him, and they were lying in Mick’s childhood home with a family that loved and accepted them both.
Not the things he’d thought he wanted when he’d stood by the lube stand and stared into Mick’s eyes. But, now that he had them, he knew they were all he would ever need.
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Thank you for reading Barbara Bell’s Cutie Pies!
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I would like to give a quick shout-out to Carole-ann Galloway, Sarah Lyons, and the rest of the team at Riptide Publishing for turning my short silly story into a book. Thank you all so much. I could not have done this without you.
Barbara lives in Sydney, Australia, with an ever-changing cast of housemates and a hive of bees. In her spare time, she can be found binge watching the latest drama series, wandering around comic book shops, or hitting people with foam swords at her local LARP game.
She is a fan of all things quirky and queer, and loves writing stories which reflect that side of herself.
You can email her at [email protected].
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